Waking Up

The past few days have cast a heavy fog over me, leaving me in a perpetual state of conflict with my profession and my writing. It’s as though there’s a constant tug-of-war within, a clash between the carefree joy of my childhood beliefs and the tumultuous journey through the thickets of society’s deep-seated anxieties about sexuality. Navigating this space feels like wading through a murky pond, with unseen forces yanking at my ankles, endeavoring to drag me under.

After a week of relentless travel and teaching, my body and mind demanded respite. Surrendering to exhaustion, I found solace in the depths of sleep for a full day, a marathon of dreams that allowed my consciousness to slowly untangle the knots. Waking up was like surfacing for air — my mind was weary from the odyssey it had endured.

Now, rejuvenated, I find myself grounded once more in the sanctuary of my home. This realization is comforting; it’s what truly counts. My vocation is a mosaic of the extraordinary — it pushes boundaries, garners a handsome reward, and evokes the extremes of human nature. It’s a peculiar dance with fear and fascination that I lead, as exhilarating as it is daunting.

Sex work is interesting. Working with sexual thoughts is even more interesting.

No, it isn’t my profession that needs transformation — it’s the perspectives and behaviors associated with it that require a shift. This journey is about advancing beyond outdated viewpoints and the misconceptions of those who mistakenly believe we embody society’s blemishes. We’re here to evolve, not to bow to the narrow-mindedness that seeks to undermine us.